The Hunt
by Juliediane
Summary: A strange thing happens every few hundred years to all Silvan elves. Haldir is no exception. He feels it and cannot resist it. The urge to mate is strong when the stars align in just the right way.
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Hunt

Author: Julie  
Rated: M

Characters: Haldir/OFC

Warning: Sex and lust. Some roughness. Euphemisms used. No crass language.

Disclaimer: I don't own Haldir, darn it, but Altariel is mine. Haldir, Lothlórien and Middle Earth belong to the Tolkien estate.

A/N: Non-canon/A.U. treatment of elves. Hopefully fun to read anyway. Special thanks and kudos to Fianna for her feedback and assistance and for cracking the whip over me.

**Part 1**

The Hunt was tonight.

For so long she had dreamed of this. Only once every few hundred years did it happen, when the stars, moon and sun all slipped into a distinctive alignment that had a singular effect upon the Silvan Elves in Middle Earth.

No one knew why, but it had started long ago and well before the First Age, during a time when the clan of the Teleri fell away from the Great Journey. What caused it was a mystery that no one had ever solved. Some said it was the water, some said it was the Valar. There were a host of whispered theories, but none had ever been verified. In fact, the whole odd thing had in general gone unrecorded in the various elvish histories, perhaps due to embarrassment or perhaps because of natural elvish reticence. The few existing references to it were so oblique that the uninformed would never understand them.

But everyone knew.

Every Silvan elf felt it, even those who were bonded, but the males felt it in particular, and unbonded males most of all.

The Urge.

Also known as the Call.

Altariel shivered with excitement. At last! Her first hunt! She had been of age during the last hunt, but she had chosen not to go. She hadn't felt ready, and had lacked the courage and confidence. She'd regretted it later, profoundly, and had spent many long years since then berating herself for her cowardly decision.

Things were different now—she was stronger, wiser, braver. And all these years of dreaming had solidified her determination to participate in the next hunt.

Dreaming of the hunt as she so often did, Altariel made her way along a narrow path, her mind filled with images of what might happen and with whom. Who would come for her? Various faces flitted through her head, and one in particular filled her with such nervous anticipation that she could barely breathe, barely think beyond the image of his bold, handsome face. But would it be he? Or some other?

"Altariel," one of her friends called softly from nearby.

Startled, Altariel turned, hesitated, and then went to join Celeth, who was seated on a delicately carved bench in a nearby arbor.

"Well? Will you go tonight?" Celeth's blue eyes were wide and inquisitive.

Altariel thought for a moment. It was a highly personal question, one she was not sure she wished to discuss with anyone. Not everyone chose to take part in such things; some considered themselves too civilized, while others took part, but did not speak of it.

"I am not sure," Altariel replied warily. "Will you?"

"Oh no! No, I don't think so." Celeth seemed almost shocked by the question, although she had asked Altariel the same. "I'm not ready for such things. Perhaps someday."

Altariel lifted her brows. "Are you afraid?"

Celeth bit her lip. "It just seems so uncultured and rough. There are other ways."

"I see," Altariel said, "and I understand."

She supposed she did understand, for when the time had come for the last hunt, she had had similar reservations. All that had changed; now she found the idea of the hunt unbearably exciting and enormously inviting. Each night she lay in her bed, stirred by her imaginings and dreaming her dreams, and wondering—always wondering—who it would be, and how it would be, and how she would feel afterward.

Taking leave of Celeth, Altariel turned away, reluctant to explain her thoughts to her friend, or in fact to anyone. She had not spoken of this even to her mother; it was simply not the sort of thing they would speak of, and if it happened, well, she would decide later what to say.

She walked slowly along the path until she came to the steps that would lead to her talan, excitement coursing through the pathways of her body. Her thoughts drifting, she began to ascend the winding stairways, but within moments she felt that she was being watched, and knew an urge to look back over her shoulder.

A group of ellyn gathered below in a clearing visible from where she stood. Tall, silver-haired and strong, they were all wardens . . . and all unbonded, as many wardens were. Did they speak of the hunt? She knew without being told that it was what had drawn them together at this time, in that particular place.

She wanted to stare at them, yet when one or two of them glanced up and stared back, she felt oddly self-conscious. Someone must have spoken, for collectively four of the five turned to look at her, almost as a unit. Even from this distance she could feel their gazes—hot, speculative, and questioning. She knew their question. Would she be one of them? Would she be out there tonight?

Would they?

She gazed at them for a long moment, noting who was in the group. Nóruion, she could see, as well as Rúmil and Garavon. The fourth looked like Converen, although Rúmil was blocking her view of him. The fifth was the only one who did not turn and look, but she knew those shoulders and that stance. If he turned and looked her way now, Altariel was not sure how she would be able to maintain her composure.

As it was, she could only nod coolly, then turn and walk away. She climbed the remaining steps, not knowing if they still watched, but reluctant to reveal her interest by looking back again.

And yet, in the end, she did.

He was gazing straight at her this time, drilling her with his gaze. His face revealed little, but on the inside, was he wondering, speculating, perhaps imagining as she imagined? Perhaps not. Perhaps he was as cool and aloof as he so often seemed.

They were acquainted and they had spoken, but they were hardly friends. She knew little of what went on in his mind, his days, or his life. Could he be the one? And would she be disappointed if he was not?

If she went tonight, she would know for certain. Perhaps. It was conceivable that no one would come for her, that the one she sought was simply not in Lórien. Perhaps that was really what had stopped her last time, the idea that she would not find him, that he would not come for her for whatever reason. The thought of returning to her talan, shattered and disappointed, alone and unsought, had been too much to bear. But this time she was prepared to take that risk.

One night to find out.

Tonight.

xxx

He had waited to turn to look at her, and then he had watched her climb the stairs, transfixed by the tantalizing sway of her hips.

His detachment was fast escaping him, he noted, as he fought the erotic images swirling in his head. At this moment any female aroused his interest, but it would be fair to say that Altariel interested him more than most, although he knew that could very well change once the sun went down.

He had lived through many hunts.

Only once had he participated—the last hunt, in fact—and that single hunt had for him been an unequivocal disaster. The memory still pained him when he allowed himself to think about it, which was almost never.

Prior to that, he had always forced himself to resist the inexorable pull, several times resorting to lashing himself to some immovable object and tossing away his knife until someone—one of his brothers, usually—found him the next morning and set him free, rebuking him for his stubbornness.

He'd wanted to prove to himself that he was stronger than the primitive urges in his blood, but instead, with every hunt that came and went, he'd found it increasingly harder to resist. The call had tormented him, the unrelenting frustration and need to surrender to it driving him almost to the brink of madness.

And so here he stood with the others, knowing that he would go.

Rúmil would also go; he was one of the few who ever spoke of it. Rúmil went every time, exulting in the thrill of the chase with Tûriel, whom he had met on his very first hunt. Orophin and Delwen had also met on a hunt; they were long bonded, but even they might well decide to indulge.

He had come to believe that many found it enjoyable; they simply did not talk about it.

Memories of the last hunt hurtled through his head, and for a moment he relived the emotions he had felt. Why would he put himself through that again? Why would he take the risk?

The answer thrummed in his blood.

Aye, he would go. Against his better judgment he would try again, hoping that this time the one he sought would be out there somewhere.

The sun was not even down, and already he could feel the first subtle tendrils of the call reverberating through his body. He shuddered inwardly, knowing full well that the call was strongest for unbonded males, and strongest of all for those who resisted.

He had learned that the hard way.

xxx

An hour before sunset, Altariel slipped on the gown she had saved for this occasion. She had no idea what others might wear, but she couldn't imagine wearing a tunic and leggings, even though they might be more practical in some regard. No, she could run very well in a gown; that was not a concern. It was of far more importance to feel alluring and seductive and strong. It would give her confidence, and truth to tell, right now she was nervous in a way that she had not been a few hours ago.

The gown was perfect. A soft grey, the fabric was delicate yet strong enough not to tear on thorns. Its weave was tight, the threads so gossamer thin that she almost felt naked, which indeed she was beneath the gown.

With its low neckline, it had to be the most provocative thing she had ever worn. She turned sideways, admiring the way it clung to her body, blatantly outlining the curves of her contours. If she stood in bright light, it would be too revealing, but in the dark of the forest, it would help her blend into the shadows. Soft leather shoes completed her outfit, but she wasn't done yet.

She strapped a knife to the inside of her thigh, another to her hip, and a third to her left calf. She then braided her long hair in the way of the wardens so that the long side pieces would not hinder her sight. Returning to her mirror, she noticed a smoldering blaze lighting the depths of her blue eyes. Apparently the urge was already creeping into her, heightening her anticipation of what was to come.

As sunset drew nigh, she pulled on a dark cloak to hide her gown and her face, and left her talan. Everyone would stay inside tonight to give privacy to those who slipped quietly out of the city and into the woods. Her heart pounding, she covered her hair with the cloak's hood and kept her head down, seeking neither to see or be seen, although she could sense that others were also leaving the city. She did not look at them or seek their identities, respecting their privacy as they respected hers.

At last she stepped into the forest, walking until she came to a familiar spot, one she could easily find later. Shivering with exhilaration, she removed her cloak and tucked it into the curve of a tree to be retrieved later.

It was the last rational thing she did, for just at that moment the sun disappeared behind the Misty Mountains. The moment it happened, she felt it—an odd, rushing sensation in her veins, followed by a surge of heat.

_Run!_

In the blink of an eye everything changed. All at once she knew what it was like to be prey. Excitement vanished and the urge to flee took over, a primitive instinct that was far stronger than she had expected.

She set out quickly, breaking into an easy run that took her deeper into the woods. A part of her was still able to analyze her own actions and find them amazing, but that part was fast receding into the distant corners of her mind. Her focus was becoming more primal; she knew the urge to mate, but knew also that she would flee from the only one she would accept.

Only one.

And she would force that one to prove himself worthy, to hunt her and claim her, and she had no intention of making it easy for him. This little she had known beforehand; it was why she had the knives.

Curiously, she found she had no trouble sensing other elves in the forest; she could easily feel their presence and automatically steer clear of them, as an animal would steer clear of creatures that did not interest it.

She also found that one of her deepest instincts was to go far into the forest to seek a place of complete isolation and privacy.

A place from which she could defend herself.

A place where she would eventually allow herself to be taken—but not without a struggle.

xxx

Haldir forced himself to wait some minutes after sunset. If she was out there, as he prayed she was, it was only fair to give her a small head start—not that it would avail her anything since he would find her and take her no matter how much head start she had. Arrogantly, he assumed she would not long elude him, an experienced warden. However, to capture her too quickly might humiliate her and could possibly diminish a portion of the pleasure for them both.

So he would wait a short while.

Each excruciating moment seemed an eternity, but he stubbornly fought within himself, standing quite still just outside the gates of Caras Galadhon while he stared off into the forest and resisted as long as he could bear. While he waited, his sharp eyes picked out a number of silent shadow figures drifting toward the wood. By some means he could not fathom, he found himself able to assess them with a visceral awareness, a talent that had come upon him only in the last few minutes. Where was she? Who was she?

Not that one, nor that one, nor that one, nor . . . wait.

His senses sharpened. A faint sensation curled inside him, a wispy tug that he had never felt before. Could it be . . . ?

Now it was gone. Perhaps in his over-eagerness he had imagined it.

He ground his teeth and nearly snarled aloud. Valar help him if she was not out there this time.

But it was too late to go back. He had no will to resist, no way to turn back. His pulse was pounding and, though he was loath to admit it, his body shook with an unleashed hunger that was far beyond his power to defy.

Something inside him snapped, dissolving the last remnants of his control. Any urge to offer fairness vanished. He took off at a run, reaching ahead of him with his preternatural new sense to test the area.

He still did not feel her, but he was not discouraged. He sensed females, several of them, as well as other males, but none that reached into him and connected with his fëa. None were the one he sought, but if she was out here, he would find her. Never had he been more determined on anything than this.

He would find her.

He kept moving, using all his senses, old and new, to scan the woods around him. He could feel several others and was able to identify their gender and location, but they were not the one he sought.

And then it came—that fluttering, irresistible little tug that almost skittered away. Almost, but not quite. He gave a feral smile.

Guided only by instinct, he ran lightly and swiftly, halting every so often to evaluate with his head cocked to the side, almost sniffing the air as a wolf would do. He could form no words and could barely think, but his senses were heightened to an extraordinary new level. It was as though he could smell every plant and animal in the entire Golden Wood, feel each patch of rough bark or spongy moss without the need to even stretch out his hand. He could hear the trees growing, the sighs of slumbering birds, the shuffling insects burrowing beneath moldering leaves. The shadows held a thousand shades of black and gray, yet he could discern color too, and far more easily than he had ever done before in the blackness of the night.

Intoxicated with consciousness of everything around him, he knew an extraordinary oneness with the forest and its creatures, yet he also felt himself to be a thing apart, an intruder of sorts. He was a hunter. He could hear the roar of his blood throbbing in his veins, reminding him of that which he sought.

Now it came again, that seductive tug on his fëa, as though she were luring him, even taunting him to try and find her.

His jaw hardened. He would not submit to taunts; he would find her and teach her. He would take her over and over until she learned not to toy with him. He was the hunter, she was the quarry. This was the only coherent thought of which he was capable.

Surrounded by huge forest trees, he scanned the area around and above him purposefully, but saw and sensed nothing of interest. He was about to move on when he felt the tug again. It was stronger this time, feminine but not as coy, and seemed to challenge him.

A great surge of heat shot straight to his loins, igniting his desires to an even greater height. Nearly dizzy with lust, he growled deep in his throat and sent his reply directly to her fëa, letting her feel his strength and power.

Finding her now would not be difficult. No matter how hard she tried, she would find no place to hide from him.

His urge to mate was ferocious as he set out to track her, this mysterious and audacious female whose fëa was now connected to his own.

This hunt would be different from the last one. He would not be disappointed.

xxx

Altariel paused for breath, her slim body quivering. For some time now she had been able to sense him, but instead of elation or anticipation, she knew only the panicked impulse to run. Her mind and body were caught up in this primitive dance, flooded with the emotions that any hunted creature would feel when being pursued through a darkened forest.

Her heart was hammering, both from running and from the primal emotions pouring through her, overruling her ability to think or reason. She had no room for curiosity or expectation; she only knew it was imperative to evade him for as long as possible. Although defeat was inevitable, it was essential to stave off his victory until she had proved herself worthy. She would be no easy capture. She must be strong, clever and swift.

And he, too, must prove himself. She must give him the chance to do that.

She glanced upward, tempted to take to the trees. Instinct prevailed, and she began to climb, moving rapidly and gracefully upward into the heights. From there she moved along the great limbs, leaping easily from tree to tree until she had traveled quite some distance. She paused, listening tensely for any sound or movement, but she heard nothing other than the screech of a distant owl. But then she wouldn't hear him, would she? He would move as silently as she did.

Even so, he _was_ pursuing her; she could feel him. Whoever he was, she knew he was coming for her. He was determined and in the end, he would catch her. She knew this.

He was closer now than he had been before, when she had first felt his powerful stroke upon her fëa. His touch had been aggressive and demanding, but she had fended him off at first, until she had realized the futility of it. Then she had turned and demanded back in a bold show of courage.

She closed her eyes, allowing herself to feel him so that she might assess how near he was. Yes, he was there at the other end of this invisible, inexorable cord. She tugged it again in another show of boldness, an instinctual tactic that seemed quite natural, as a creature of nature would try to look more fierce than it was.

His response was direct, domineering, and so male that she gasped, her eyes flying open in shock. Again she knew the urge to flee, but this time from the trees.

Never could she fight him up here with her knives, hampered by a skirt and at this height above the ground! She began to descend, traversing lower as she leapt from tree to tree until eventually she reached the ground. She took a moment to see from which direction he approached, and then took off in the opposite direction.

xxx

He knew he was gaining on her. He had increased his speed, sensing that she was trying to draw away from him.

So she thought she could escape him, did she? He almost snorted, but instead he pushed himself to move even faster, his hair flying out behind him in the breeze.

He was used to running; he knew he had to be far more fit than she was, and without a doubt he was also more fleet of foot. He could continue like this for hours, but could she? He doubted it, and was slightly surprised he had not overtaken her already. Apparently she had some stamina. Good, she would need it.

However, by the time he reached her, she would be exhausted and unable to resist him. She would beg him to take her, he thought exultantly. She would yield without a fight, and allow him whatever liberties he chose. And he would take plenty of them. His need had never been so intense as it was at this moment, as this elleth would soon discover to her very great pleasure.

He halted suddenly, realizing that her trail turned upward into the boughs of the trees. He reached out and touched the bark of a great mallorn, the one he somehow knew she had recently scaled.

A wave of her essence slammed into him, granting him his first real taste of her feminine arousal. It consumed him for a moment, inciting his desire to conquer and to claim.

He shuddered, aware that her hand had touched the bark in this exact place only a short while before. His fingers curled into a fist, as if to lock some part of her into his hand while he debated whether to follow her path upward or to continue at ground level. He used their invisible link to help him decide, taking this unfair advantage with no hesitation whatsoever, and immediately knew that she was no longer in the trees. To climb would waste time, time that could be far better spent in mating.

He smiled and continued on.

xxx

Altariel paused again, aware that she did not have much more time to choose the place. She sensed no others around; instinctively she'd been careful in that respect even while fleeing, but he was close on her heels and would corner her soon. After that . . .

Her heart beat so hard that it felt like it would burst from her chest.

Her blind terror was fading into something else, something mesmerizing and defiant. Her body still shook, but less from panic than from renewed anticipation. Instead of fear, she now welcomed what was soon to occur. She looked forward to fighting him, to feeling his strength and power and maleness. Most of all, she looked forward to feeling him buried inside her, his skin pressed to hers, his mouth doing Valar knew what while she writhed beneath his ardent caresses.

To add to this, her curiosity had returned, reminding her that she still did not even know who he was, although she had her suspicions. His essence seemed familiar to her, and she could almost guess . . . or perhaps she only hoped.

She kept moving, searching for a place that suited her, a place she could defend. The sloping ground held numerous dips and hollows, but she wanted a place with a flat grassy area, without brambles or thorns. As the female, she knew that it was her responsibility to choose the place, for once he was upon her, there would be little or no delay. She had no doubt at all that his appetite for her was rapacious; she could feel his hunger for her all too easily. It would be all she could do to delay him at all.

Within moments she found it, a pleasant glade that would serve at the top of a rise. She reached beneath her skirt and drew out the knife strapped to her thigh, leaving the other, more accessible knives at the ready. She held the blade deftly, recalling the many lessons she'd had on self-protection. She had done well and learned much, perhaps even with this moment in mind.

No matter what he thought, he would find her no easy mark.

Closing her eyes, she tuned into him, knowing he would appear soon, and in a fit of defiance, she sent him a sharp tug, as though goading him for his failure to find her any sooner. His answer was arrogant, sending sizzling tremors of desire throughout her body.

He was fast approaching, she knew.

A part of her still wanted to flee, but she resisted, ready to stand her ground. He was almost here. She could not hear him, but she could sense him.

He was coming, aye. But he would not take her easily.

She was ready.

xxx

Haldir knew the moment she had stopped fleeing from him. Pleased, he slowed his pace, knowing that he would come upon her in an instant. He did not care what location she had chosen; he only wanted to conquer her, to triumph, to take her over and over and over until they were both sated and exhausted, and then he would take her again.

He halted, knowing he had only to take a few more steps and she would be there, waiting for him, wanting him as much as he wanted her.

Would she fight him? He didn't think so, but if she did, he would enjoy it immensely. His urge was to join his body with hers in complete dominance of male over female, and yet at the same time he wanted her to be his equal in courage and boldness.

And who was this elleth? In a moment he would find out.

xxx


	2. Part 2

Part 2

Dear Readers,

Thanks very much for the feedback! Glad you are liking this! I'm finally in the mood to write Haldir stories again. If you read Part 1 before I fixed it with the scene breaks, sorry about that; it is fixed now. I forgot that ff. net removes certain characters. --Julie

xxx

**Part 2**

Her fingers wrapped loosely around her knife, Altariel faced the direction she sensed that he was coming from, but she saw no movement and heard nothing.

He was so near she could almost taste him. But nothing happened. Nothing at all. And yet she knew he must be there, watching her. He was playing games with her now. The thought made her angry.

"Show yourself!" she cried out. "Are you a coward?"

Nothing. But she knew he heard her.

Sweet Elbereth, what was he doing? Swallowing hard, she glanced quickly from left to right, ready to scream from the nerve-racking suspense.

Then, from the corner of her eye, she caught a movement behind and to her left. She spun around with a gasp. It was Haldir! Haldir himself!

It seemed surreal that he should be the one who hunted her. He was the one she'd yearned for in the darkness of the night, the one she'd secretly observed and studied with fascination, always with pretended disinterest. He had always seemed to be so unapproachable, so detached . . . but tonight he was anything but detached.

Tall, solid, and daunting, he stood quite still, surveying her with an air of predatory ownership.

And as prepared as she had been, he had still managed to catch her off guard. By Elbereth, he was not three arms' lengths from where she stood, and how he had gotten there without her hearing or sensing him was a mystery.

"Altariel," he said smoothly. Something in that deep, black velvet voice sent chills down her spine.

"Haldir," she managed to reply, almost cordially.

They sounded ridiculously civilized, but she knew it was an act on both their parts. The Call coursed in their blood, making them crave each other to the point of obsession; they were way past the point of being polite.

No, she did not feel civilized. She wanted to rip off his clothes.

He wore only black leggings, black undertunic and leather boots, but had dispensed with overtunic and sword. Not even a knife hung at his waist, though she did see a length of coiled hithlain.

"Stay back," she warned him, licking her lips.

He took a step in her direction, and in that single step, any semblance of civilization vanished. His eyes gleamed like silver flames in the darkness, that bold gaze raking her body with a purposefulness that stripped her bare.

"That is not what you want," he stated silkily.

She lifted her knife, aiming its tip at his chest.

"Do you know how to use that toy?" he mocked.

She tightened her grip and took a step backward. "Of course, as you will find to your regret."

He gave a soft snort and took another step, approaching slowly, but she was not fooled. Any moment now he would lunge at her, but perhaps not before she could distract him.

She let her eyes slide over him, taking in the enticing male physique delineated by the snugness of his clothing. His leggings displayed long muscular thighs, and his undertunic was short enough to display his lean hips. As for his pelvic area, it revealed his interest and intention as clearly as if he had spoken of it.

"You are eager for me, I see," she murmured coyly.

He only smiled. A dangerous smile.

She took another small step backward, mostly to deceive him, and then she sprang forward, sweeping the blade in a wide arc aimed at his chest.

She had no expectation or wish to actually wound him; instead her goal was to force him backward, as well as to impart to him the fact that he still had much to prove.

As expected, her blade met only air. He moved quickly, and was already behind her before her swing was complete. She spun around, crouching a little with her weapon raised. He was very close and he was smirking.

"Too slow," he taunted. "I could have had you on the ground by now if I had chosen it."

"So you say. I hear nothing but talk."

Haldir laughed softly and began to circle her like a leopard, his gaze holding hers captive. Her heart thumped as she turned along with him to keep them face to face; she dared not take her eyes off him for an instant.

"That gown leaves little to the imagination," he remarked. "I like that."

"Do you indeed." She kept turning, her knife poised. "The threads are strong."

"Not strong enough."

His meaning was clear, and a shudder of arousal went through her. "Perhaps stronger than yours," she suggested.

He slanted a suggestive look at her. "You are eager to know."

"I am in no hurry," she countered, watching him warily. She took in his gleaming eyes, the way they undressed her and burned her. Any moment now he meant to pounce, and with this thought she drew out the knife at her hip, holding it poised in her other hand. "And I am well armed."

He lifted an arrogant brow. "And what do you intend to do with that? You have not even managed to do anything with the first one."

He was trying to provoke her, and was succeeding more than she wanted him to know.

"It took you far longer to find me than I thought," she needled back. "I expected better."

He ceased his circling, but if she had succeeded in baiting him, he gave no sign of it.

"I gave you a head start." He studied her, his gaze unnervingly thorough. "Tracking you was child's play, Altariel. But enough words. We want the same thing. And here we face each other with only two flimsy little knives between us."

"Three," she corrected.

He snorted. "Thirty knives will not stop me from doing what I intend to do." A slow smile curled his lips, and she felt the intimate stroke of his fëa upon hers. "Do you know what that is?"

She lifted her chin, trying to look indifferent. "I cannot imagine. Would you care to elaborate?"

His dark lashes only half veiled the smolder in his eyes. "Certainly, if you wish it." He began to do just that, using language and imagery so explicit that her knees went weak from the great swell of hunger roiling inside her. So much for the civilized banter. Did he know the effect his words had on her? He must.

He reached out so suddenly she had no time to react, grasping her right wrist, holding it so tightly that she could barely retain her blade. His grip was strong, dominating and demanding, but it was his gaze that held her in thrall.

"There are things that I want, my lady, and none of them involve talk. You are mine and will always be mine. Now will you remove that dress, or must I cut it from your body?"

"Go to Mordor," she hissed. "Release me at once!"

He laughed softly. "Oh, I will grant you many releases, but first you must yield to me, little fawn. Drop these foolish weapons you have no idea how to use and spread your thighs for me. That is what you want, is it not?"

Ooooh, so infuriatingly cocksure, he was! No matter that he had the right of it, it was still insufferable of him to say so, and she would have slapped him if her hand had not held a knife. Instead, she tried to slash him, but he captured that wrist too, squeezing so hard that she was forced to drop the blade.

Arching his brows, he shoved her arms behind her back and drew her against his hard thighs,. "You fault me for speaking the truth?" He held her trapped with no noticeable effort, pressing himself against her aggressively. His face was near, the silvery curtain of his hair draped over his broad shoulders.

"Where shall I put _my _ weapon, my lady?" With a wicked curve of his mouth, he ground himself against her most feminine area, the lust gathering around them like a heady fog. "Do you have any suggestions?"

"Into your own hand!" she snapped, earning his laughter.

"Oh, I think not," he mocked. "I can think of a nicer place. A tight wet place that even now quivers for me. That is the purpose of all this wriggling, is it not?"

She swore at him, struggling to throw him off, but to no avail. And then, without warning, he did release her and step back. "Go ahead," he said, his eyes glinting. "Show me what you can do with your toy." His amused tone both dared her and challenged her, as though he was curious to see what she could do.

Grinding her teeth with annoyance, Altariel crouched slightly, then dove forward, feinting to the left to fool him. However, before she could even complete the move she had learned in her lessons, his hand came up to strike her wrist so hard that the knife flew off into the bushes. With a cry of frustration, she dove at his legs, her shoulder connecting with his shin hard enough to hurt him. He fell, but his chuckles told her it was by choice. Elbereth, he was toying with her as an adult might toy with a child!

They tussled, rolling around on the ground. She drew her third and last knife, and he took it from her, tucking it into his belt with an infuriating snort. She could feel his superior strength and knew that he could subdue her in an instant, but he was enjoying this and so was she, truth to tell. She pulled his hair. He hauled her against him while she flailed and fought him. He shoved her facedown with a knee to her back. She pretended to yield, and then sprang up and knocked him flat on his back. She kicked him and bit him while he laughed and bit her back, even spanking her a few times while she squirmed and cursed him. It was ferocious and arousing and primitive and exciting, this mating ritual that the Call forced upon them.

The magnetic force of her attraction to him—his strength and his maleness—nearly overpowered her, but nonetheless she fought him, twisting and turning in a futile effort to be free. Suddenly, she saw an opening and tried to knee him right between the legs.

The blow must have been harder than she thought, for he let her go and fell to one knee with a grunt of pain that sounded alarmingly real. For a moment Altariel was horrified, and then she saw his smug smile and realized that he was not all that injured. He was toying with her again!

Furious, she flung herself at him in an effort to send him sprawling to the ground, intending to knock him flat and run away, but he recovered with suspicious speed and seized her.

Too late she realized that he had maneuvered her right to the edge of the knoll. Too late she realized that the momentum of pushing him down would drive them over the edge. Too late she realized that this was all a part of the trap he had set for her.

Together they fell, locked together and crashing so hard that Altariel felt the air knocked from her lungs. She clung instinctively to Haldir as they rolled and hurtled through brambles and leaves and over small rocks that made her cry out with their sharpness.

Tangled in her skirts and his legs, they should have rolled haphazardly, but she could feel the flex of his muscles, and realized indignantly that he was steering their fall. Indeed, he must have planned this! His hands gripped her as their fall threw her against him in a way that made her acutely aware of his body.

He was not light. In fact she found his sturdiness highly arousing, although this was not the time to admit it. Leaves caught in her hair, twigs pulled at her dress, and when they finally stopped rolling, Haldir lay on top of her, his full body weight pining her down. His self-satisfied expression made it clear that this was by design, and that he had purposely baited her into attacking him. She lay still, gasping to get the wind back in her lungs.

"Do you surrender now?" he asked in a silky, triumphant voice.

"I do not!" With a swiftness she hoped would surprise him, she reached down, seized her own knife from his belt, and put the tip at his throat. "What will you do now, Haldir?" she taunted. "Perhaps you will concede a point to me?"

His gaze roved her face, lingering on her lips, and for a moment she thought he was going to kiss her despite the blade at his throat. Then, with a twisted smile, he sat back, straddling her thighs.

"Come now," he began, "are we not past this? I want—"

In one smooth movement she flung the blade across his chest. He leaped away from her, his reflexes lightning fast, but she'd succeeded in slicing open his tunic and perhaps nicking his flesh. She was halfway to her feet when he threw himself at her, wresting the knife from her hand, and with a precision that shocked her, stabbed it straight through the fabric of her gown just below the juncture of her thighs, pinning her—skirt and all—to the loamy ground.

He did not seem amused.

"Enough." He reached down and cupped her chin, forcing her to look up at him, his mouth taut and dangerous in its slant. "The games end now, Altariel. You are mine and I will have you. You want me just as much as I want you, admit it. I can feel your desire for me."

"Perhaps I do," she shot back, "but if I am yours, then you are also mine." Reaching between her legs, she snatched the knife from the earth, but at once found her wrist imprisoned by strong fingers.

"And what would you do with that knife? Do you indeed wish to maim me?" His eyes bored into hers.

She gave him her most beguiling smile. "Nay, but I will cut those leggings right off you, Marchwarden. They will be in shreds before I am finished. And if you are very fortunate, I will give you something worthwhile to do with that great weapon you carry around."

He laughed, his amusement returning. "My great weapon has plans, my lady, all of them designed to give you pleasure. However, the mere idea of you using that knife for anything at all is amusing. Perhaps you might peel an apple with it."

"You are SO arrogant!" Irritably, she tried to free her arm, but without success.

"Am I indeed. Perhaps I am, but I have better things for you to do than play with knives." Squeezing her wrist, he forced her to loosen her hold on the blade, which he took and drove back into the earth an arm's length away.

And then his mouth captured hers, hungrily claiming her at last.

In that simple action, resistance and baiting ended, replaced by an almost frenzied urgency to taste and touch and drink in each other.

She clung to him, tasting him deeply while the ache of warmth and wetness between her thighs expanded to a new height. Their tongues swirled and mated in mutual and almost frantic need, a need built almost to unbearable potency by their recent scuffles. Desperate to touch him, her hands slipped beneath his short undertunic to caress the warm, smooth skin of his ribs and shoulder blades.

At last their kiss broke. They were both gasping, but already his mouth was on her throat, licking and kissing, working his way along her collarbone to her shoulder, nipping here and there as if to place his mark on her. Whimpering helplessly, she played with his ears while he moved downward to feast on her breasts right through the gossamer thin fabric of her dress. He flexed his hips, grinding himself against her leg while she writhed mindlessly, clutching his hair in her fists.

"Altariel," he muttered, against her breast. "Altariel."

He lifted himself up, staring at her. He was breathing deeply, his gaze unfocused, as though he held himself barely in check. He was achingly beautiful to her at that moment. The lines of his face were perfect, his body exquisite, his pale hair backlit by moonlight so that he almost glowed.

"Haldir," she said softly.

Without warning, he snatched up the knife, seized the bodice of her beautiful gown and sliced it right open to expose her breasts. Slamming the blade back into the ground, he caught hold of the dress and ripped it right down to the hem, tearing it off her without compunction or hesitation. Cool night air touched her flesh, but she took no notice. All her attention was on the ellon who loomed over her like a conqueror, looking like he was about to devour her.

Which was just what she wanted.

Aching for more of him, she arched her back, thrusting her breasts upward in mute invitation. With a soft growl he fell upon them, suckling and teasing her swollen nipples with unrestrained ardor while his long fingers dipped between her legs, plunging deep into the place that was so drenched with her desire. She stroked every part of him that she could reach and kicked off her shoes, rubbing the soles of her feet along his muscled thighs while he moaned deep in his throat and lavished attention upon her most sensitive places.

"So wet," he said huskily. "So eager for me."

Not bothering to reply, she reached down and grabbed at his tunic, tugging impatiently until he gave in and pulled it off over his head. He sat back on his heels to undo his leggings, his sculpted chest gleaming in the starlight.

That was when she finally got hold of the knife, but she did not swing it this time. Instead, she sat up quickly and grabbed hold of his laces. "Let me," she demanded. "You are mine and I WILL claim you."

To her surprise, he allowed this, lifting his hands away while she sawed impatiently through the leather ties, ruining them for any future uses. His leggings fell open, revealing his powerful erection, which she surveyed with delighted appreciation. She glanced up at him through her lashes and saw him watching her warily, and with a sultry smile, she slammed the blade back into the earth.

And then she bent forward and tasted him.

He made a strangled sound in his throat, but did not move. This was the closest she had come to being in control of him, and she took advantage of that, shoving him onto his back while she followed her instincts on what would best please him. Guided by his ragged sounds of near ecstasy, she experimented for some time, giving as much pleasure as she could while her hands cupped and cradled the hilt of his magnificent weapon.

But she wanted him naked. She sat back on her heels and yanked off his boots, tossing them aside with no regard for where they landed. His leggings followed. She smiled, admiring him, and was about to take him into her mouth again when instead she found herself flat on her back.

He moved over her quickly, settling himself aggressively between her thighs to press the head of his great weapon unerringly against her most sensitive spot.

"Say that you are mine," he commanded, his tone steely. "I want to hear you say it." He undulated his hips, mercilessly teasing her, but she could feel his trembling and knew that his control hung by a thread. "Say it!" he repeated.

"I am yours, Haldir." Her voice was faint, almost pleading. "Now take me quickly, for I can bear no more."

He made a low sound of triumph—half laugh and half growl—and entered her in one long heavy push that filled her all the way to her womb. It was aggressive, an act of possession, and she exulted in it.

Time stopped, whirling into nothingness, leaving only one endless moment of pure rapture. Nothing existed but their passion. Altariel clutched his broad shoulders while he pressed her down, making low male pleasure sounds in his throat as she gave herself to him wholly. With every hot thrust she rose up to meet him, each long slide carrying her higher along a swelling wave of pure rapture. His velvet hardness slid against her sensitive nerve endings, creating fiery sensations that had her thrashing convulsively beneath him, the long strands of their hair tangling along with their heated limbs.

Her senses expanded. They were one with the forest, part of Arda itself, part of the grass they lay on and the flowers whose heady scent wafted on the night breeze. Dimly, she knew that she was sobbing something beneath her breath, but she had no idea what it was. She heard him utter her name. And then the wave crashed over them, hot liquid pleasure spilling through them with thunderous and primal force, carrying them aloft to a far away place of absolute perfection.

They lay unmoving as the last pulsations of pleasure died away, conscious that their fëar were as intimately entwined as their bodies. It would be a simple matter to take it one step further, to join their fëar into an eternal bonding, but it was too soon. It would happen in time; they both knew that and did not need to discuss it.

Haldir lifted his head, his grey eyes searching hers as if trying to gauge her thoughts, but he did not speak. He kissed her lightly. It was a brief respite, a moment of peace and contentment.

But the Call still had them in its grip, and they did not rest long.

xxx

Just after dawn, Altariel awoke from her reverie and found herself nestled in Haldir's strong arms, her head on his shoulder and her leg over his. Birds twittered softly, leaves rustled, and Haldir's chest rose up and down in a peaceful rhythm.

She assessed the pretty little glade in which they lay, finding it lovely and perfect, like a hidden meadow within the forest, with soft grasses and flowers. He must have known it was here, she realized, or he would have found a way to prevent their tumble down the hill.

That brought back a flood of memories. Startled, she lifted her head and stared at a bite mark on Haldir's forearm. Had she done that? Yes, she had! She remembered doing it. And that was not the only bite that she had given him!

Embarrassment flooded her. No wonder people did not speak of the Hunt! She could never tell anyone, even Celeth, about what had occurred! Never could she repeat the things she had said to Haldir, done to Haldir, or the way she had baited him, teased him, treated him, tried to use those blades. Oh my, oh my!

And yet, she discovered that the memories still sizzled her nerve endings.

Sweet Eru, how many times had they joined? She had lost count. Each time had been different, each wonderful in its way. None had been gentle, but she had not wanted gentleness. That was what the Call had done to them. In its way it was barbaric, yet she also had to admit that she had enjoyed it. It had been marvelous, every moment of it.

And now it was over until the next time, hundreds of years from now.

With this thought in her mind, she turned to look at Haldir, and found that he was watching her. Immediately, she felt herself blush.

"You have regrets?" he inquired. With gentle fingers he tucked a lock of her silvery hair behind her ear.

She shook her head. "No, I do not. Do you?"

He rolled to his side and propped himself up on one elbow while he gazed thoughtfully down at her. He had thrown his leg over hers in a rather proprietary manner, and she was very conscious of all the places where their bodies touched. He seemed so different from a few hours before, patient and kind rather than ferocious and demanding. And yet she knew that other side was real; it was what enabled him to be such a strong and able leader of the Galadhrim.

"I have no regrets," he replied, but with an odd edge to his voice. "Not this hunt. But the last one, yes. Where were you then?"

It was a careful question, spoken without blame, but her heart lurched painfully as she realized what she must have put him through with her absence.

"I did not go," she confessed. "I . . . I dared not. I am sorry. You must have suffered because of my cowardice."

"You were no coward," he said, after a brief hesitation. "It was a choice. I have made the same choice many times. This was only my second hunt." He surveyed her body with a rueful expression. "I was too rough with you. I am sorry."

"Nay," she whispered, knowing he saw bruises. "I was also rough."

He smiled then, a slight smirk. "You were a she-wolf. But I liked it."

"Did you indeed." Slightly mortified but also amused, she touched his face, caressing his cheek with her thumb. "I liked it too," she admitted. "And I am very glad it was you. I hoped it would be." She blushed again.

"Did you?" He caught hold of her hand and kissed the tips of each of her fingers.

"Yes," she said steadily. "I did. I always noticed you."

He smiled, retaining her hand. "Good. Because I wanted it to be you too, Altariel. So . . . now we know."

"Yes," she agreed contentedly. "Now we know."

"Your dress is in shreds." He did not sound at all repentant.

"No matter. The threads are ensorcelled and will mend themselves."

"Ah." He made a slight grimace. "My laces are not so fortunate. I know not how I will manage to keep my leggings up and my great weapon out of sight."

She laughed. "Oh, I am sure a way can be found, Haldir."

She glanced down, appreciating the flawless beauty of his body in the light of day, and was amazed to find that she already wanted him again. And unless his weapon lied, the feeling was mutual.

Just then she felt the touch of his fëa on hers—a light, flirtatious caress that made her shiver with longing. She glanced up quickly.

He was smiling, a perceptive glint in his eyes that made her wonder how much he knew of her thoughts. Cupping her cheek with his palm, he bent down and pressed his mouth to hers, kissing her gently. "Make love with me again, Altariel. I would know your sweetness without the Call's insanity driving my blood."

"Yes," she said, reaching for him. "Yes and yes and yes."

In the soft early morning they loved, slowly at first and then more urgently, taking the time to fan the flames of their passion with tenderness and care. And when at last they came together it was not with the half-crazed wildness of the night, but with an awareness and focus that spoke of rapidly awakening feelings. No words were spoken because none were needed. Together they soared to a shattering conclusion, one that was no less spectacular than any they had experienced during the night. And when it was over, each felt the amazing sense of rightness that came with finding one's destined fëa-mate.

Her head on his shoulder, Altariel lay quietly atop Haldir, having collapsed onto his broad chest. His hands stroked gently down the length of her back, his breathing soft and steady near her ear.

"So," he said, "have I satisfied you yet, _meleth_? You seem insatiable where I am concerned." His lazy voice held a mixture of teasing and tenderness.

She lifted her head. "Perhaps I might say the same of you," she remarked.

"You might indeed." His mouth quirked upward. "Are you disappointed I did not use the hithlain last night?"

She gave an outraged giggle. "Haldir!" she protested. "What a suggestion!"

His smile was at once smug and endearing. "I came prepared, but you were so very willing. What need had I of hithlain?"

She sat up and smacked him lightly on the chest. "You are a perfect beast to tease me so." She leaned over him, bracing her weight on her hands. "Say that you are mine," she demanded.

He lifted a brow. "Have I not made that quite clear?"

"Say it," she repeated. "I want to hear it from those pretty lips."

He laughed and drew her close. "I am yours, Altariel. You know this."

"I do, but I wished to hear it."

"From my pretty lips," he added, his eyes twinkling.

"Exactly." She leaned up and kissed him. "Thank you."

"For what, _meleth nín_?"

"For taking part in the hunt. For not making me endure the pain I would have felt had you not been here." Sudden tears of remorse sprang to her eyes. "I can well imagine what I would have felt if you had not . . . I am sorry for last time . . . I never thought that . . . I never wished to hurt you . . . even last night when I . . . "

He touched his finger to her lips. "Hush. It serves no purpose to fret. All things happen when they are meant to happen. Surely you know this."

She nodded. "I do know it."

"Then let us have no more tears." He kissed her gently. "I am yours, _meleth_. Shall I prove it yet again?"

Altariel laughed through her tears. "Only if you wish to, my heart."

"_Gerich veleth nín_, sweet Altariel. And yes, of course I do."

"_Gerich veleth nín_, Haldir," she whispered, quite some time later.

You have my love.

The End


End file.
